A Taste of Magic
by Undine74
Summary: When Kallisto's uncle and guardian dies, she has no choice but to leave homeschooling and go to Hogwarts' School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. There she meets Harry Potter, whom she had saved from dementors during the summer. But Harry soon becomes suspicious. There is something strange about that girl; odd nighttime strolls, and the fact that she always knows when he's in trouble.
1. Chapter 1

I flew.

No matter how many times I did it, the feeling never changed. The tangibility of the wind drafts lifting me up, whistling through my feathers. The adrenaline and excitement pulsing through my veins. The perception that I could do anything.

Focus, I told myself. While thinking during such an amazing experience was hard, it wasn't impossible. So I focused.

I was flying toward the boy I've been watching for the last couple of weeks. He led a boring life at the moment, but people tell me that he was pretty epic. Evidently, that epicness vanished during the summer. Nonetheless, it was still surprisingly interesting to watch another person go through his everyday life.

His name is Harry Potter.

I was watching him because I'm part of the Order of the Phoenix.

Well, technically, I'm not, but I do currently live at their headquarters. I'm a relative of Sirius Black's (His father's brother's daughter, or in simpler terms: cousins), but my father is dead, so I lived with another uncle (Sirius's father's sister's husband) until I found his dead body a month ago. A Killing Curse had killed him. Nobody had any idea who it might be, since he had plenty of enemies, nor the motivation. Whatever the reason, though, nothing else happened, so the case was finally dropped.

Nobody knew that I was an animagus. Everyone at headquarters thought that I was on a walk. Only my uncle knew, and he's dead.

Speaking of dead guardians, I now didn't have anyone to homeschool me. Sirius certainly didn't have the time, and I didn't have anyone else. Not from this world, anyway. But I'll tell you about that later.

I will be going to Hogwarts this year. Truth be told, I was beyond excited to go there. My uncle had a library, but I've read all the books many times over. The Hogwarts library is supposed to be huge! Not to mention the castle itself. It has seven (known) floors, a hundred and forty two moving staircases, and- well, I won't bore you with all the other details, since I may or may have not memorized the entire Hogwarts, a History.

I descended toward the ground. In the distance, I saw a couple of people pointing at me. They were probably excited to see such a big hawk in such a boring place like Surrey, Little Whinging. I flew over the identical suburban houses, their cars dusty and their normally polished gardens brown because of draught. As I circled of Potter's house, my sharp eyes spotted him lying in some bushes, just underneath the open living room window. He was listening to something.

Fluttering down and landing on a tree nearby, I overheard what Potter was listening to.

The news.

If I had eyebrows, I would've raised one. How much more boring could you get?

I tried to put myself in his place. His friends haven't been writing to him (Dumbledore told them not to, because of 'reasons'). He must've been getting the newspapers, but from what little I learned from watching him, I got the idea that he wasn't the most patient of people. He probably just skimmed through the papers, I realized. Maybe even just looking at the headlines, thinking that if Voldemort returned, it would most certainly be on the front page. He most likely had no idea o the political situation.

I shook my head, knowing I looked odd doing that in my hawk form. He should know better than that. Ah, well, nothing I could do.

Thinking about helplessness, I was reminded of camp. I had to go home early this year. I had received a message from my uncle to get home right away, but by the time I had gotten home, it had been too late. He had laid stone cold surrounded by destruction, his stiff fingers gripping his wand so tight that I had to pry them apart. Not that I was overly sad that he was dead, but that's another story. Anyway, I had to cut camp short. I had only been there a few weeks, so I was mad him for dying so early in summer. I know, I sound glacier cold, but it's the truth.

I was startled out of my thoughts by a _crack!_ coming from under the car across Potter's house. A yowling cat sprinted out from there. Instantly, I jumped out of the tree, transforming in the process. In a second, I had an arrow pointed at the car, bow string taught, before I realized that the sound was from someone Dissapparating. Potter had wizards watching him. This was probably the end of his shift. I sheathed the arrow and momentarily shifted back into a hawk.

I swiveled around, searching for a shocked expression on Potter's face, but he was too out of it to notice me. He had evidently hit his head while standing up. I would have sighed in relief if I had been in human form.

Then I frowned (well, as much as hawks can frown). That was way too close. What I did was idiotic, though instinctive. I should've drawn my wand, not my bow and arrows. Well, old habits die hard. The things I learned at camp would stay with me for the rest of my life. I had, after all, gone there since I was six.

If you're wondering what sort of camp taught you to draw a weapon when startled, then the answer is Camp Half-Blood, and it's the best place in the world. It took in only a certain kind of people and taught them - us - how to survive.

Those certain kind of people aren't even fully human - they're half god, half mortal. Half Greek god, to be exact. The official term is demigod, though half-blood also works. I stifle a laugh. Even in the wizarding world, I was still a half-blood.

I had ignored Potter since the transformation, so I turned to see him talking to his aunt and uncle.

"Why were you lurking under our window?" His aunt Petunia was asking suspiciously.

"Yes - yes, good point, Petunia!" Mr. Dursley exclaimed triumphantly. "What were you doing under our window, boy?"

"Listening to the news," said Potter in a resigned voice. His aunt and uncle exchanged looks of outrage.

"Listening to the news! Again?"

"Well, it changes every day, you see," said Potter. I stifled a chuckle.

"Don't you be clever with me, boy! I want to know what you're really up to - and don't give me any more of this listening to the news tosh! You know perfectly well that your lot . . ."

"Careful, Vernon!" breathed Mrs. Dursley, and her husband lowered his voice so I could barely hear him, ". . . that your lot don't get on our news!"

"That's all you know," said Potter. The Dursleys goggled at him for a few seconds, then Mrs. Dursley said, "You're a nasty little liar. What are all those -" she too lowered her voice so that I had to lip-read the next word, "- owls - doing if they're not bringing you news?"

"Aha!" said Uncle Vernon in a triumphant whisper. "Get out of that one, boy! As if we didn't know you get all your news from those pestilential birds!"

Potter hesitated for a moment.

"The owls . . . aren't bringing me news," Potter said tonelessly.

"I don't believe it," said the horse-faced woman at once.

"No more do I," said Mr. Dursley forcefully.

"We know you're up to something funny," said Mrs. Dursley.

"We're not stupid, you know," said Mr. Dursley.

"Well, that's news to me," said Harry, his temper evidently rising, and before the Dursleys could call him back, he had wheeled around, crossed the front lawn, stepped over the low garden wall, and was striding off up the street.

I took flight and followed him. He walked around for a while, getting angrier and angrier. He looked around resentfully, spotting a deserted, steadily darkening park. He vaulted over the gate and strode through the yellowing grass before settling on the only unbroken swing. He stayed like that, staring moodily at the ground.

As I perched on a tree, the sound of voices interrupted his glaring and he looked up. The streetlamps from the surrounding roads were casting a misty glow strong enough to silhouette a group of people making their way across the park. One of them was singing a loud, crude song. The others were laughing. A soft ticking noise came from several expensive racing bikes that they were wheeling along. I recognized them. After so much time watching Potter, they would be etched into my memories forever. And not in a good way, either.

The figure in front was unmistakably Potter's cousin, Dudley Dursley, wending his way home, accompanied by his faithful gang.

Potter watched the dark figures crossing the grass, glowering at them. He didn't, however, call after them, though he seemed to have difficulty keeping quiet. When they were out of sight, he stood, stretched, and headed, scowling, home.

Harry stepped into the shadow of a large lilac tree and waited.

". . . squealed like a pig, didn't he?" Malcolm was saying, to guffaws from the others.

"Nice right hook, Big D," said Piers. "Same time tomorrow?" said Dudley.

"Round at my place, my parents are out," said Gordon.

"See you then," said Dudley.

"Bye Dud!"

"See ya, Big D!"

Potter waited for the rest of the gang to move on before setting off again. When their voices had faded once more he headed around the corner of the street and by walking very quickly he soon came within hailing distance of Dudley, who was strolling along at his ease, humming tunelessly.

"Hey, Big D!"

I was circling above them, trying not to giggle. Big D. Sounded like a bra size.

Dudley turned.

"Oh," he grunted. "It's you."

"How long have you been 'Big D' then?" said Harry.

"Shut it," snarled Dudley, turning away again.

"Cool name," said Harry, grinning and falling into step beside his cousin.

"But you'll always be Ickle Diddykins to me."

"I said, SHUT IT!" said Dudley, whose ham-like hands had curled into fists.

"Don't the boys know that's what your mum calls you?"

"Shut your face."

"You don't tell her to shut her face. What about 'popkin' and 'Dinky Diddydums,' can I use them then?"

Oh, gods. My ribs are going to burst from held in laughter.

Dudley said nothing. The effort of keeping himself from hitting Harry seemed to be demanding all his self-control.

"So who've you been beating up tonight?" Harry asked, his grin fading. "Another ten-year-old? I know you did Mark Evans two nights ago -"

"He was asking for it," snarled Dudley.

"Oh yeah?" "He cheeked me."

"Yeah? Did he say you look like a pig that's been taught to walk on its hind legs? 'Cause that's not cheek, Dud, that's true . . ."

I made a small sound. Thankfully, neither of them heard it.

A muscle was twitching in Dudley's jaw. It seemed to give Potter enormous satisfaction to torture Dudley like that.

They turned right down the narrow alleyway which seemed to form a shortcut between one street and another. It was empty and much darker than the streets it linked because there were no streetlamps. Their footsteps were muffled between garage walls on one side and a high fence on the other.

"Think you're a big man carrying that thing, don't you?" Dudley said after a few seconds.

"What thing?"

"That - that thing you're hiding."

Potter grinned again. "Not as stupid as you look, are you, Dud? But I s'pose if you were, you wouldn't be able to walk and talk at the same time. . . ."

Potter pulled out his wand. He saw Dudley look sideways at it.

"You're not allowed," Dudley said at once. "I know you're not. You'd get expelled from that freak school you go to."

"How d'you know they haven't changed the rules, Big D?"

"They haven't," said Dudley, though he didn't sound completely convinced. Potter laughed softly.

"You haven't got the guts to take me on without that thing, have you?" Dudley snarled.

"Whereas you just need four mates behind you before you can beat up a ten-year-old. You know that boxing title you keep banging on about? How old was your opponent? Seven? Eight?"

"He was sixteen for your information," snarled Dudley, "and he was out cold for twenty minutes after I'd finished with him and he was twice as heavy as you. You just wait till I tell Dad you had that thing out -"

"Running to Daddy now, are you? Is his ickle boxing champ frightened of nasty Harry's wand?"

"Not this brave at night, are you?" sneered Dudley.

"This is night, Diddykins. That's what we call it when it goes all dark like this." I made another noise of laughter, unable to stand it, but they were too wrapped up in their argument to notice.

"I mean when you're in bed!" Dudley snarled. He had stopped walking. Potter stopped too, staring at his cousin. From what I could see of Dudley's large face, he was wearing a strangely triumphant look.

"What d'you mean, I'm not brave in bed?" said Potter, completely nonplussed. "What - am I supposed to be frightened of pillows or something?"

"I heard you last night," said Dudley breathlessly. "Talking in your sleep. Moaning."

"What d'you mean?" Potter said again, but his expression changed in his expression. He looked queasy, and almost... rather nervous.

Dudley gave a harsh bark of laughter, then adopted a high-pitched, whimpering voice. " 'Don't kill Cedric! Don't kill Cedric!' Who's Cedric - your boyfriend?"

"I - you're lying -" said Potter, seemingly automatically. I knew who Cedric was, though. He was the guy that was killed in front of harry the night Voldemort had risen.

" 'Dad! Help me, Dad! He's going to kill me, Dad! Boo-hoo!' "

"Shut up," said Potter quietly. "Shut up, Dudley, I'm warning you!"

" 'Come and help me, Dad! Mum, come and help me! He's killed Cedric! Dad, help me! He's going to -'Don't you point that thing at me!"

Dudley backed into the alley wall. Potter was pointing the wand directly at Dudley's heart. I could see years of hatred coming to the surface, blazing through his eyes. He wanted to hurt him, maim him, to strike him with a jinx so powerful -

"Don't ever talk about that again," Harry snarled. "D'you understand me?"

"Point that thing somewhere else!"

"I said, do you understand me?"

"Point it somewhere else!"

"DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME?"

"GET THAT THING AWAY FROM -"

Dudley gave an odd, shuddering gasp, as though he had been doused in icy water.

Something had happened to the night. The star-strewn indigo sky was suddenly pitch-black and lightless - the stars, the moon, the misty streetlamps at either end of the alley had vanished. The distant grumble of cars and the whisper of trees had gone. The balmy evening was suddenly piercingly, bitingly cold. They were surrounded by total, impenetrable, silent darkness, as though some giant hand had dropped a thick, icy mantle over the entire alleyway, blinding them.

And I felt it - even in animagus form, I could feel their power, sucking, leeching off me. Dementors. I shuddered in the air, then aimed to the ground, shapeshifting in midair and jumping to the ground, unnoticed in the shadows. I had to help, but I had been told that Potter can cast a Patronus. That decided it, then. I would wait to see if he manages to cast one. If he fails, then I would help him.

Dudley's terrified voice broke in my ear.

"W-what are you d-doing? St-stop it!"

"I'm not doing anything! Shut up and don't move!"

"I c-can't see! I've g-gone blind! I -"

"I said shut up!"

Even in the dark, I could see perfectly - a gift from mother. Dudley was hugging the wall behind him. Harry was looking around blindly, trying to see the dementors. There was one about 10 feet in front of them, and another just arriving, gliding down through the dark sky.

"I'll t-tell Dad!" Dudley whimpered. "W-where are you? What are you d-do - ?"

"Will you shut up?" Harry hissed, "I'm trying to lis -" But he fell silent. He had heard the same thing I did.

Something was drawing long, hoarse, rattling breaths. And he had a pretty good idea what it was.

"C-cut it out! Stop doing it! I'll h-hit you, I swear I will!"

"Dudley, shut -"

WHAM!

Dudley's fist connected to Potter's head, lifting him off his feet. I winced. That really hurt. I know from experience.

"You moron, Dudley!" Harry yelled, his eyes watering with pain, as he scrambled to his hands and knees, now feeling around frantically in the blackness. He heard Dudley blundering away, hitting the alley fence, stumbling.

"DUDLEY, COME BACK! YOU'RE RUNNING RIGHT AT IT!"

There was a horrible squealing yell, and Dudley's footsteps stopped. At the same moment, I felt a creeping chill behind me. That could mean only one thing. I turned around and spotted another one. Oh, gods. Potter was definitely going to need help.

"DUDLEY, KEEP YOUR MOUTH SHUT! WHATEVER YOU DO, KEEP YOUR MOUTH SHUT! Wand!" Potter muttered frantically, his hands flying over the ground like spiders.

"Where's - wand - come on - Lumos!"

A light appeared a few feet from him. I jerked, surprised. I had read that wands made of a phoenix feather sometimes acted on their own, but I had never seen it before.

Potter finally saw the towering, hooded figure that was gliding smoothly toward him, hovering over the ground, no feet or face visible beneath its robes, sucking on the night as it came. Stumbling backward, Potter raised his wand.

"Expecto Patronum!"

A silvery wisp of vapor shot from the tip of the wand and the dementor slowed, but the spell hadn't worked properly; tripping over his feet, Potter retreated farther as the dementor bore down upon him.

I gave him one last shot; if he didn't manage to make a Patronus, I was taking over.

A pair of gray, slimy, scabbed hands slid from inside the dementor's robes, reaching for the boy.

"Expecto Patronum!"

It was even weaker than the previous; that was it. As Potter sank to his knees, I stepped in front of him. He looked up, dazed, as I cast the spell.

"EXPECTO PATRONUM!"

An enormous wolf erupted from my wand. Its head was a foot above mine; he was at least 12 feet long, from head to tail, shining with an unearthly silver light. He snarled at the dementor, then pounced. The Patronus drove his opponent back, foot by foot. Finally, it swooped away pathetically, defeated.

"THIS WAY!" Harry shouted at the wolf, finally having stood up. Wheeling around, he sprinted down the alleyway, holding the lit wand aloft.

"EXPECTO PATRONUM!" Potter bellowed, and his Patronus joined mine.

"DUDLEY? DUDLEY!" He had run barely a dozen steps, me following, when he reached them: Dudley was curled on the ground, his arms clamped over his face; the second dementor was crouching low over him, gripping his wrists in its slimy hands, prying them slowly, almost lovingly apart, lowering its hooded head toward Dudley's face as though about to kiss him...

"GET IT!" Harry bellowed, and with a rushing, roaring sound, the silver stag and wolf came galloping back past him. The dementor's eyeless face was barely an inch from Dudley's when the silver antlers caught it; the thing was thrown up into the air and, like its fellow, was chewed up by the silver wolf; it then soared away and was absorbed into the darkness. The stag cantered to the end of the alleyway and dissolved into silver mist. My Patronus, however came back to me and let me scratch him behind his ears (though I had to stretch to reach them), before he, to, dissolved.

Moon, stars, and streetlamps burst back into life. A warm breeze swept the alleyway. Trees rustled in neighboring gardens and the mundane rumble of cars in Magnolia Crescent filled the air again. I stood quite still, all my senses vibrating, taking in the abrupt return to normality.

I suddenly became aware of a person watching us. Tensing, I shifted slightly to the left and spotted Mrs. Figg. I relaxed. She would know not to tell anyone. I smiled at her; her expression staying serious, she winked at me.

After a moment Potter seemed to become aware that the person who saved him was standing next to him.

"Who are you?" he demanded after a few seconds of staring at me.

I winked. "You're welcome, Harry Potter. No need to thank me so nicely."

He flushed deeply, but didn't backed down. "Thank you," he said grudgingly. "But really; who are you?"

"Oh, I imagine you'll find out soon enough," I answered with a grin. "But do me a favor - please don't tell anyone about me; just for the moment. I promise we'll be seeing each other real soon."

And without another word, I sprinted away into the darkness.


	2. Chapter 2

_**Author's Note: Thank you so much or the reviews! I really didn't expect it. If you see something I could've written better, feel free to criticize. This chapter is mostly a filler, so feel free to skim through if you want. It's rather long, more than 6000 words.**_

 **:: Chapter Two ::**

After about forty minutes of flying, I finally started descending toward number twelve, Grimmauld Place. I swooped into a dive, heading for the largest collection of lights I had yet seen, a huge, sprawling, crisscrossing mass, glittering in lines and grids, interspersed with patches of deepest black. No matter how many times I saw it, it always took my breath away. Lower and lower I flew, until I could see individual headlights and streetlamps, chimneys, and television aerials.

I landed on a patch of unkempt grass in the middle of a small square. The grimy fronts of the surrounding houses weren't welcoming; some of them had broken windows, glimmering dully in the light from the streetlamps, paint was peeling from many of the doors, and heaps of trash lay outside several sets of front steps.

A couple walked by hurriedly, their breaths coming out as small puffs, visible in the cold night. I was suddenly grateful or my feathers; they kept me surprisingly warm. I looked up to see the Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix. They didn't look like much, but that was sorta the point.

I pondered on whether to go in now or to wait till after Potter arrives. I was pretty sure they couldn't leave him in Little Whinging after the dementors. I wondered what will happen to him next. What will the Ministry do? Technically, they shouldn't be able to do anything – there's provision in the Decree for the Restriction of Underage Sorcery for the use of magic in life-threatening situations. If they followed their own laws, they shouldn't be able to expel him.

I decided to go in now. Even with my feather down, I started to feel the chill, now that I wasn't moving. Looking around, I transformed back into my human form. Ha, human form. I technically wasn't human at all. Half god, half witch. Most wizards lived for up to two hundred years. Although no one was sure how long a demigod lived (since most of us died before we reached twenty), I was pretty sure that I'd live at least three centuries.

I started walking toward the door. Its black paint was shabby and scratched. The silver door knocker was in the form of a twisted serpent, but there was no keyhole or letterbox. Slowly, as to not make any noise, I opened the door and closed it softly behind me. I cast a _Lumos_ , sustaining the flickering insubstantial light over the peeling wallpaper and threadbare carpet of a long, gloomy hallway, where a cobwebby chandelier glimmered overhead and age-blackened portraits hung crooked on the walls. I heard something scuttling behind the baseboard. Both the chandelier and the candelabra on a rickety table nearby were shaped like serpents.

My feet treading lightly over the old, but recently cleaned carpet (I usually walked barefoot; an old habit of mine), walking past a pair of long, moth-eaten curtains, behind which I knew was the old hag that was my aunt. I passed the large umbrella stand that looked as though it had been made from a severed troll's leg. Someone really needed to move that somewhere else. Tonks was bound to trip on it again soon. I reached the staircase. Taking two stairs at a time, I began climbing up to the other kids my age. Passing a row of shrunken house-elf heads mounted on plaques on the wall.

Stopping on the second floor, I knocked softly on the first door to the right.

"Come in," called Hermione's voice. I opened the door and slipped in. "Oh, it's you, Callisto. I told you, there's no need to knock."

I entered a gloomy high-ceilinged, twin-bedded room. Ron and Hermione were sitting on the right-side bed, appearing to be having a conversation. The rather gangly looking boy had a long nose, bright red hair, and freckles. Hermione, on the other hand, had brown hair, bushy as always, and kind brown eyes. Pigwidgion made a loud twittering noise and zoomed towards me, landing in my hands. He was really cute, if sometimes rather annoying. Ron had a remedy for that, though – he just feeds the little owl some treats that glue his beak together.

I lied down on my back on the carpeted floor. I really didn't like sleeping on these beds. Most of the time, I just slept on the floor. They were too soft and swallowed you inside them; made me feel like I was suffocating.

"I think Potter's arriving soon," I told them, pull my raven-black hair out from under my back. I was really proud of it. It reached past my waist, though I knew it was impractical. I usually wore it in a long braid to compensate. I loosed it now, spilling my hair over the floor.

"Bloody hell, Cal," said an annoyed Ron. "Don't call him Potter. It sounds like… Malfoy to me."

"I don't know him," I told him. "Although I agree with you, Potter sounds like spitting. I'll ask him when he arrives."

"How do you know he's coming, anyway?" Hermione asked, a little suspiciously.

"Common sense. Plus, I overheard Tonks talking about it. She, Moody, Kingsley and a few others would be his guard if he needs to come to Headquarters. She mentioned it a few weeks ago."

"Oh." Hermione looked at me a little awkwardly. "Do you mind if we continued our conversation… privately?"

"No problem." I stood up and walked to the little nook between the other bed and a dark wardrobe. I wouldn't be able to see them and they wouldn't see me. Before sitting down, I cast a _Quietus_ around them. I didn't check whether they were annoyed that I didn't leave. Not that I particularly cared.

I guess you must've notice that I was casting spells pretty freely during the summer. Not that I would've been expelled because of these little spells, but the Trace could be used to find the Order of the Phoenix. But being a rather paranoid person, my uncle had removed the Trace from me as soon as I came to live with him. So I was safe.

After sitting there a while, I heard with my heightened sense of hearing someone opening the front door. I dispelled the _Quietus_ and said quietly, "Harry Potter's here. But don't go down to meet him, it'll get to crowded and you're bound to make noise."

I couldn't see their expressions, but from what I gathered, they were both nervous and excited to see him. Nervous because of the way he might react to their useless letters. I agreed. This wouldn't be pretty.

In a few minutes, the door creaked open. Hermione shrieked, and from the footsteps and the muffled "umph" I heard, I guessed she had thrown herself at him.

"HARRY! Ron, he's here, Harry's here! We didn't hear you arrive! Oh, how are you? Are you all right? Have you been furious with us? I bet you have, I know our letters were useless — but we couldn't tell you anything, Dumbledore made us swear we wouldn't, oh, we've got so much to tell you, and you've got to tell us — the dementors! When we heard — and that Ministry hearing — it's just outrageous, I've looked it all up, they can't expel you, they just can't, there's provision in the Decree for the Restriction of Underage Sorcery for the use of magic in life-threatening situations —"

"Let him breathe, Hermione," said Ron's voice, and I heard the door closing behind Harry. Then there was a soft whooshing sound, which meant that Hedwig had swooped down to Harry Potter.

"Hedwig!" The snowy owl clicked her beak and nibbled his ear affectionately as Harry stroked her feathers.

"She's been in a right state," said Ron. "Pecked us half to death when she brought your last letters, look at this —"

He must've shown Harry the index finger of his right hand, which I knew sported a half-healed but rather deep cut.

"Oh yeah," Harry said. "Sorry about that, but I wanted answers, you know. . . ."

"We wanted to give them to you, mate," said Ron. "Hermione was going spare, she kept saying you'd do something stupid if you were stuck all on your own without news, but Dumbledore made us —"

"— swear not to tell me," said Harry. "Yeah, Hermione's already said."

There was a strained and rather awkward silence after that.

"He seemed to think it was best," said Hermione rather breathlessly. "Dumbledore, I mean."

"Right," said Harry.

"I think he thought you were safest with the Muggles —" Ron began.

"Yeah?" said Harry, and I got the mental image of him raising his eyebrows. "Have either of you been attacked by dementors this summer?"

"Well, no — but that's why he's had people from the Order of the Phoenix tailing you all the time —"

"Didn't work that well, though, did it?" said Harry, sound like he was fighting to keep his voice even. "Had to look after myself after all, didn't I?"

"He was so angry," said Hermione in an almost awestruck voice. "Dumbledore. We saw him. When he found out Mundungus had left before his shift had ended. He was scary."

"Well, I'm glad he left," Harry said coldly. "If he hadn't, I wouldn't have done magic and Dumbledore would probably have left me at Privet Drive all summer."

"Aren't you . . . aren't you worried about the Ministry of Magic hearing?" said Hermione quietly.

"No," Harry said defiantly. I heard the lie in his voice. Footsteps started toward me.

"So why's Dumbledore been so keen to keep me in the dark?" Harry asked, still trying hard to keep his voice casual. "Did you — er — bother to ask him at all?"

I transfigured a mirror just in time to see Ron and Hermione exchanging a look that told me he was behaving just as they had feared he would. It probably did nothing to improve his temper. Then I realized what I was doing, namely eavesdropping on a private conversation, and quickly got rid of the mirror, wishing there was a discreet way to get out of the room.

"We told Dumbledore we wanted to tell you what was going on," said Ron. "We did, mate. But he's really busy now, we've only seen him twice since we came here and he didn't have much time, he just made us swear not to tell you important stuff when we wrote, he said the owls might be intercepted —"

"He could still could've kept me informed if he'd wanted to," Harry said shortly. "You're not telling me he doesn't know ways to send messages without owls."

Hermione glanced at Ron and then said, "I thought that too. But he didn't want you to know anything."

"Maybe he thinks I can't be trusted," said Harry, watching their expressions.

"Don't be thick," said Ron, sounding highly disconcerted.

"Or that I can't take care of myself —"

"Of course he doesn't think that!" said Hermione anxiously.

"So how come I have to stay at the Dursleys' while you two get to join in everything that's going on here?" said Harry, the words tumbling over one another in a rush, his voice growing louder with every word. "How come you two are allowed to know everything that's going on — ?"

"We're not!" Ron interrupted. "Mum won't let us near the meetings, she says we're too young —"

But before he knew it, Harry was shouting.

"SO YOU HAVEN'T BEEN IN THE MEETINGS, BIG DEAL! YOU'VE STILL BEEN HERE, HAVEN'T YOU? YOU'VE STILL BEEN TOGETHER! ME, I'VE BEEN STUCK AT THE DURSLEYS' FOR A MONTH! AND I'VE HANDLED MORE THAN YOU TWO'VE EVER MANAGED AND DUMBLEDORE KNOWS IT — WHO SAVED THE SORCERER'S STONE? WHO GOT RID OF RIDDLE? WHO SAVED BOTH YOUR SKINS FROM THE DEMENTORS?"

Hedwig took fright at the noise and soared off on top of the wardrobe again; Pigwidgeon twittered in alarm and zoomed even faster around their heads. I frowned. While I understood where he was coming from, he really was being an asshole to his friends. Eh. None of my business.

"WHO HAD TO GET PAST DRAGONS AND SPHINXES AND EVERY OTHER FOUL THING LAST YEAR? WHO SAW HIM COME BACK? WHO HAD TO ESCAPE FROM HIM? ME!"

"BUT WHY SHOULD I KNOW WHAT'S GOING ON? WHY SHOULD ANYONE BOTHER TO TELL ME WHAT'S BEEN HAPPENING?"

"Harry, we wanted to tell you, we really did —" Hermione began, sounding on the verge of tears.

"CAN'T'VE WANTED TO THAT MUCH, CAN YOU, OR YOU'D HAVE SENT ME AN OWL, BUT DUMBLEDORE MADE YOU SWEAR —"

"Well, he did —"

"FOUR WEEKS I'VE BEEN STUCK IN PRIVET DRIVE, NICKING PAPERS OUT OF BINS TO TRY AND FIND OUT WHAT'S BEEN GOING ON —"

"We wanted to —"

"I SUPPOSE YOU'VE BEEN HAVING A REAL LAUGH, HAVEN'T YOU, ALL HOLED UP HERE TOGETHER —"

"No, honest —"

"Harry, we're really sorry!" said Hermione desperately. "You're absolutely right, Harry — I'd be furious if it was me!"

I heard Potter breathing heavily from all that yelling, his footsteps again pacing up and down. Hedwig hooted glumly from the top of the wardrobe. There was a long pause, broken only by the mournful creak of the floorboards below Harry's feet.

"What is this place anyway?" he shot at Ron and Hermione.

"Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix," said Ron at once.

"Is anyone going to bother telling me what the Order of the Phoenix — ?"

"It's a secret society," said Hermione quickly. "Dumbledore's in charge, he founded it. It's the people who fought against You-KnowWho last time."

"Who's in it?" said Harry, coming to a halt with his hands in his pockets. "Quite a few people —"

"— we've met about twenty of them," said Ron, "but we think there are more. . . ."

More silence. "Well?" Potter demanded, looking from one to the other.

"Er," said Ron. "Well what?"

"Voldemort!" said Harry furiously. "What's happening? What's he up to? Where is he? What are we doing to stop him?"

"We've told you, the Order don't let us in on their meetings," said Hermione nervously. "So we don't know the details — but we've got a general idea —" she added hastily, seeing the look on Harry's face.

"Fred and George have invented Extendable Ears, see," said Ron. "They're really useful."

"Extendable — ?"

"Ears, yeah. Only we've had to stop using them lately because Mum found out and went berserk. Fred and George had to hide them all to stop Mum binning them. But we got a good bit of use out of them before Mum realized what was going on. We know some of the Order are following known Death Eaters, keeping tabs on them, you know —"

"— some of them are working on recruiting more people to the Order —" said Hermione.

"— and some of them are standing guard over something," said Ron. "They're always talking about guard duty."

"Couldn't have been me, could it?" said Harry sarcastically.

"Oh yeah," said Ron, with a sound of dawning comprehension. Harry snorted.

Okay, that's it. They were my friends too. He could not talk to them that way. I sprang to my feet, surprising all of them. Harry staggered a few steps back.

"You!" He said incredulously.

"That's right, me," I answered. "And don't think I'll ever be helping you again if keep acting this way toward our friends. You sound like a git, you know that?"

The boy flushed deeply, but kept looking at me defiantly, despite the shame I saw in his eyes. He knew he was being an ass. Good.

"And are you finally going to tell me who you are?" he demanded, irony filling his voice.

I grinned. Oh, that's right, I had left rather mysteriously after the Incident with the Dementors.

"Callisto, at your service," I said, bowing.

"Excuse me, where do you two know each other from?"

Hermione and Ron. Right.

Before Harry Potter could say anything, I said, "Last summer I went to Little Whinging in the hopes of seeing him. I bumped into Potter while a gang of rather fat and muscled guys were bullying him. I now know that he's more than capable of handling them, but back then… well, let's just say that a series of unfortunate events happened to that group of boys."

Ron sniggered, while Hermione frowned at me. "That was rather risky, Callisto." After a moment of thought, she asked me something else.

"What time of the summer did you meet him?" she asked, watching my expression sharply.

I suppressed a grin and said, "Around the very beginning, I guess." I had done my homework. I knew that Harry Potter was with his aunt and uncle only in the start of the summer, then went to the Weaslys after the World Cup. Now, that may sound a bit stalkerish, but Sirius asked me to watch over him when I could. That's why I was tailing him today. Sirius knows that I'm more than just a witch (though he doesn't know what exactly) so he wanted some extra protection around his godson.

"Are you from America?" Harry asked curiously inquiring about my American accent.

"Well, technically I'm British, but I've lived there for a long time."

"And how do you know about – AARGH!"

With two loud _cracks_ , Fred and George, Ron's elder twin brothers, had materialized out of thin air in the middle of the room. Pigwidgeon twittered more wildly than ever and zoomed off to join Hedwig on top of the wardrobe.

"Stop doing that!" Hermione said weakly to the twins, who were as vividly red-haired as Ron, though stockier and slightly shorter.

"Hello, Harry," said George, beaming at him. "We thought we heard your dulcet tones."

"You don't want to bottle up your anger like that, Harry, let it all out," said Fred, also beaming. "There might be a couple of people fifty miles away who didn't hear you."

"You two passed your Apparation tests, then?" asked Harry grumpily, reminded of his earlier anger again.

"With distinction," said Fred, who was holding what looked like a piece of very long, flesh-colored string.

"It would have taken you about thirty seconds longer to walk down the stairs," said Ron.

"Time is Galleons, little brother," said Fred. "Anyway, Harry, you're interfering with reception. Extendable Ears," he added in response to Harry's raised eyebrows, holding up the string, which Harry now saw was trailing out onto the landing.

"We're trying to hear what's going on downstairs."

"You want to be careful," said Ron, staring at the ear. "If Mum sees one of them again . . ."

"It's worth the risk, that's a major meeting they're having," said Fred. The door opened and a long mane of red hair appeared.

"Oh hello, Harry!" said Ron's younger sister, Ginny, brightly. "I thought I heard your voice."

Turning to Fred and George she said, "It's no go with the Extendable Ears, she's gone and put an Imperturbable Charm on the kitchen door."

"How d'you know?" said George, looking crestfallen.

"Tonks told me how to find out," said Ginny. "You just chuck stuff at the door and if it can't make contact the door's been Imperturbed. I've been flicking Dungbombs at it from the top of the stairs and they just soar away from it, so there's no way the Extendable Ears will be able to get under the gap."

Fred heaved a deep sigh. "Shame. I really fancied finding out what old Snape's been up to."

"Snape?" said Harry quickly. "Is he here?"

"Yeah," said George, carefully closing the door and sitting down on one of the beds; Fred and Ginny followed. "Giving a report. Top secret."

"Git," said Fred idly.

"He's on our side now," said Hermione reprovingly.

Ron snorted. "Doesn't stop him being a git. The way he looks at us when he sees us. . . ."

"Bill doesn't like him either," said Ginny, as though that settled the matter.

I had retreated back to my corner, though I was still standing.

Harry sank onto the bed opposite the others. "Is Bill here?" he asked. "I thought he was working in Egypt."

"He applied for a desk job so he could come home and work for the Order," I said. Ron jumped. He had evidently forgotten I was here. "Yeah," said Fred. "He says he misses the tombs, but," he smirked, "there are compensations. . . ."

"What d'you mean?"

"Remember old Fleur Delacour?" said George. "She's got a job at Gringotts to eemprove 'er Eeenglish —"

"— and Bill's been giving her a lot of private lessons," sniggered Fred.

"Charlie's in the Order too," said George, "but he's still in Romania, Dumbledore wants as many foreign wizards brought in as possible, so Charlie's trying to make contacts on his days off."

"Couldn't Percy do that?" Harry asked. The last he had heard, the third Weasley brother was working in the Department of International Magical Cooperation at the Ministry of Magic. At these words all the Weasleys and Hermione exchanged darkly significant looks.

"Whatever you do, don't mention Percy in front of Mum and Dad," Ron told Harry in a tense voice.

"Why not?"

"Because every time Percy's name's mentioned, Dad breaks whatever he's holding and Mum starts crying," Fred said.

"It's been awful," said Ginny sadly.

"I think we're well shut of him," said George with an uncharacteristically ugly look on his face.

"What's happened?" Harry said. I sat down again, this time visible.

"Percy and Dad had a row," said Fred. "I've never seen Dad row with anyone like that. It's normally Mum who shouts. . . ." "It was the first week back after term ended," said Ron. "We were about to come and join the Order. Percy came home and told us he'd been promoted."

"You're kidding?" said Harry. I understood. Though Percy was highly ambitious, my impression was that Percy had not made a great success of his first job at the Ministry of Magic. Percy had committed the fairly large oversight of failing to notice that his boss was being controlled by Lord Voldemort (not that the Ministry had believed that — they all thought that Mr. Crouch had gone mad).

"Yeah, we were all surprised," said George, "because Percy got into a load of trouble about Crouch, there was an inquiry and everything. They said Percy ought to have realized Crouch was off his rocker and informed a superior. But you know Percy, Crouch left him in charge, he wasn't going to complain..."

"So how come they promoted him?"

"That's exactly what we wondered," said Ron, who seemed very keen to keep normal conversation going now that Harry had stopped yelling. "He came home really pleased with himself — even more pleased than usual if you can imagine that — and told Dad he'd been offered a position in Fudge's own office. A really good one for someone only a year out of Hogwarts — Junior Assistant to the Minister. He expected Dad to be all impressed, I think."

"Only Dad wasn't," said Fred grimly.

"Why not?" said Harry.

"Well, apparently Fudge has been storming round the Ministry checking that nobody's having any contact with Dumbledore," said George.

"Dumbledore's name's mud with the Ministry these days, see," said Fred. "They all think he's just making trouble saying You-KnowWho's back."

"Dad says Fudge has made it clear that anyone who's in league with Dumbledore can clear out their desks," said George.

"Trouble is, Fudge suspects Dad, he knows he's friendly with Dumbledore, and he's always thought Dad's a bit of a weirdo because of his Muggle obsession —"

"But what's this got to do with Percy?" asked Harry, confused.

"I'm coming to that. Dad reckons Fudge only wants Percy in his office because he wants to use him to spy on the family — and Dumbledore."

Harry let out a low whistle. "Bet Percy loved that."

Ron laughed in a hollow sort of way. "He went completely berserk. He said — well, he said loads of terrible stuff. He said he's been having to struggle against Dad's lousy reputation ever since he joined the Ministry and that Dad's got no ambition and that's why we've always been — you know — not had a lot of money, I mean —"

"What?" said Harry in disbelief, as Ginny made a noise like an angry cat.

"I know," said Ron in a low voice. "And it got worse. He said Dad was an idiot to run around with Dumbledore, that Dumbledore was heading for big trouble and Dad was going to go down with him, and that he — Percy — knew where his loyalty lay and it was with the Ministry. And if Mum and Dad were going to become traitors to the Ministry he was going to make sure everyone knew he didn't belong to our family anymore. And he packed his bags the same night and left. He's living here in London now."

Harry swore under his breath. He had always liked Percy least of Ron's brothers, but he had never imagined he would say such things to Mr. Weasley.

"Mum's been in a right state," said Ron. "You know — crying and stuff. She came up to London to try and talk to Percy but he slammed the door in her face. I dunno what he does if he meets Dad at work — ignores him, I s'pose."

"But Percy must know Voldemort's back," said Harry slowly. "He's not stupid, he must know your mum and dad wouldn't risk everything without proof —"

"Yeah, well, your name got dragged into the row," said Ron, shooting Harry a furtive look. "Percy said the only evidence was your word and . . . I dunno . . . he didn't think it was good enough."

"Percy takes the Daily Prophet seriously," said Hermione tartly, and the others all nodded.

"What are you talking about?" Harry asked, looking around at them all. They were all regarding him warily.

"Haven't — haven't you been getting the Daily Prophet?" Hermione asked nervously.

"Yeah, I have!" said Harry.

"Have you — er — been reading it thoroughly?" Hermione asked still more anxiously. Uh oh. I sense another explosion.

"Not cover to cover," said Harry defensively. "If they were going to report anything about Voldemort it would be headline news, wouldn't it!"

The others flinched at the sound of the name. Hermione hurried on, "Well, you'd need to read it cover to cover to pick it up, but they — um — they mention you a couple of times a week."

"But I'd have seen —"

"Not if you've only been reading the front page, you wouldn't," said Hermione, shaking her head. "I'm not talking about big articles. They just slip you in, like you're a standing joke."

"What d'you — ?"

"It's quite nasty, actually," said Hermione in a voice of forced calm. "They're just building on Rita's stuff."

"But she's not writing for them anymore, is she?"

"Oh no, she's kept her promise — not that she's got any choice," Hermione added with satisfaction. "But she laid the foundation for what they're trying to do now."

"Which is what?" said Harry impatiently.

"Okay, you know she wrote that you were collapsing all over the place and saying your scar was hurting and all that?"

"Yeah," said Harry, who was not likely to forget Rita Skeeter's stories about him in a hurry.

"Well, they're writing about you as though you're this deluded, attention-seeking person who thinks he's a great tragic hero or something," said Hermione, very fast, as though it would be less unpleasant for Harry to hear these facts quickly. "They keep slipping in snide comments about you. If some far-fetched story appears they say something like 'a tale worthy of Harry Potter' and if anyone has a funny accident or anything it's 'let's hope he hasn't got a scar on his forehead or we'll be asked to worship him next —' "

Her it comes.

"I don't want anyone to worship —" Harry began hotly.

"I know you don't," said Hermione quickly, looking frightened. "I know, Harry. But you see what they're doing? They want to turn you into someone nobody will believe. Fudge is behind it, I'll bet anything. They want wizards on the street to think you're just some stupid boy who's a bit of a joke, who tells ridiculous tall stories because he loves being famous and wants to keep it going."

"I didn't ask — I didn't want — Voldemort killed my parents!" Harry spluttered. "I got famous because he murdered my family but couldn't kill me! Who wants to be famous for that? Don't they think I'd rather it'd never —"

"We know, Harry," said Ginny earnestly.

"And of course, they didn't report a word about the dementors attacking you," said Hermione. "Someone's told them to keep that quiet. That should've been a really big story, out-of-control dementors. They haven't even reported that you broke the International Statute of Secrecy — we thought they would, it would tie in so well with this image of you as some stupid show-off — we think they're biding their time until you're expelled, then they're really going to go to town — I mean, if you're expelled, obviously," she went on hastily, "you really shouldn't be, not if they abide by their own laws, there's no case against you."

I heard the sound of footsteps coming up the stairs.

"Uh-oh." Fred gave the Extendable Ear a hearty tug; there was another loud crack and he and George vanished. Seconds later, Mrs. Weasley appeared in the bedroom doorway.

"The meeting's over, you can come down and have dinner now, everyone's dying to see you, Harry. And who's left all those Dungbombs outside the kitchen door?"

"Crookshanks," said Ginny unblushingly. "He loves playing with them."

"Oh," said Mrs. Weasley, "I thought it might have been Kreacher, he keeps doing odd things like that. Now don't forget to keep your voices down in the hall. Ginny, your hands are filthy, what have you been doing? Go and wash them before dinner, please. . . ."

Ginny grimaced at the others and followed her mother out of the room, leaving Harry alone with me, Ron and Hermione again. Both of them were watching him apprehensively, as though they feared that he would start shouting again now that everyone else had gone. His expression turned slightly ashamed again.

"Look . . ." he muttered, but Ron shook his head, and Hermione said quietly, "We knew you'd be angry, Harry, we really don't blame you, but you've got to understand, we did try and persuade Dumbledore –"

"Yeah, I know," said Harry grudgingly.

Silence.

"Who's Kreacher?" he finally asked.

"The house-elf who lives here," said Ron. "Nutter. Never met one like him."

Hermione frowned at Ron.

"He's not a nutter, Ron —"

"His life's ambition is to have his head cut off and stuck up on a plaque just like his mother," said Ron irritably. "Is that normal, Hermione?"

"Well — well, if he is a bit strange, it's not his fault —"

Ron rolled his eyes at Harry. "Hermione still hasn't given up on spew —"

"It's not 'spew'!" said Hermione heatedly. "It's the Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare, and it's not just me, Dumbledore says we should be kind to Kreacher too —"

"Yeah, yeah," said Ron. "C'mon, I'm starving."

He led the way out of the door and onto the landing, but before they could descend the stairs — "Hold it!" Ron breathed, flinging out an arm to stop Harry and Hermione walking any farther. "They're still in the hall, we might be able to hear something —"

The three of them looked cautiously over the banisters. The gloomy hallway below was packed with witches and wizards, including all of Harry's guard. They were whispering excitedly together. In the very center of the group Harry saw the dark, greasy-haired head and prominent nose of his least favorite teacher at Hogwarts, Professor Snape. Harry leaned farther over the banisters. He was very interested in what Snape was doing for the Order of the Phoenix…

A thin piece of flesh-colored string descended in front of Harry's eyes. Looking up he saw Fred and George on the landing above, cautiously lowering the Extendable Ear toward the dark knot of people below. A moment later, however, they began to move toward the front door and out of sight.

"Dammit," Harry heard Fred whisper, as he hoisted the Extendable Ear back up again. They heard the front door open and then close.

"Snape never eats here," Ron told Harry quietly. "Thank God. C'mon."

"And don't forget to keep your voice down in the hall, Harry," Hermione whispered. As they passed the row of house-elf heads on the wall they saw Lupin, Mrs. Weasley, and Tonks at the front door, magically sealing its many locks and bolts behind those who had just left.

"We're eating down in the kitchen," Mrs. Weasley whispered, meeting them at the bottom of the stairs. "Harry, dear, if you'll just tiptoe across the hall, it's through this door here —"

 _CRASH._

"Tonks!" cried Mrs. Weasley exasperatedly, turning to look behind her.

"I'm sorry!" wailed Tonks, who was lying flat on the floor. "It's that stupid umbrella stand, that's the second time I've tripped over —"

But the rest of her words were drowned by a horrible, earsplitting, bloodcurdling screech. An old woman in a black cap was screaming and screaming as though she was being tortured. My aunt.

Damn it. I knew I should've moved that gods-damned umbrella stand.

The old woman was drooling, her eyes were rolling, the yellowing skin of her face stretched taut as she screamed, and all along the hall behind them, the other portraits awoke and began to yell too, so that I actually clapped my hands over my ears before I cast a _Quietus_ around me. Then I went forward to help. Lupin and Mrs. Weasley darted forward and tried to tug the curtains shut over the old woman, but they would not close and she screeched louder than ever, brandishing clawed hands as though trying to tear at their faces. "Filth! Scum! By-products of dirt and vileness! Half-breeds, mutants, freaks, begone from this place! How dare you befoul the house of my fathers —"

Tonks apologized over and over again, at the same time dragging the huge, heavy troll's leg back off the floor. Mrs. Weasley abandoned the attempt to close the curtains and hurried up and down the hall, Stunning all the other portraits with her wand. I went to help Professor Lupin close the curtains, seizing the curtain Mrs. Weasley had abandoned (I was considerably stronger than Mrs. Weasly). Then a man with long black hair – Sirius - came charging out of a door facing Potter.

"Shut up, you horrible old hag, shut UP!" he roared, grabbing Lupin's curtain to help him. The old woman's face blanched.

"Yoooou!" she howled, her eyes popping at the sight of the man. "Blood traitor, abomination, shame of my flesh!"

"I said — shut — UP!" roared the man, and with a stupendous effort he, Lupin and me managed to force the curtains closed again. The old woman's screeches died and an echoing silence fell. Panting slightly and sweeping his long dark hair out of his eyes, Harry's godfather, and my cousin, turned to face Potter.

"Hello, Harry," he said grimly, "I see you've met my mother."


End file.
